The Punishment
by Drumboy100
Summary: "Loki, the war criminal, needs to be brought to justice." "Oh, I think he will be." This is what happens immediately upon Loki's return to Asgard. Loki's POV. Warning: nongraphic flogging scene.


I couldn't hear their discussion from where I stood. I could tell it was an intense conversation, although they didn't seem to express great amounts of emotion. Odin stared ahead and downward, listening, an unreadable expression on his face as always. At times he would frown deeply, perhaps struggling with the seriousness of the report. Thor gesticulated meaningfully, not like the tattling sessions of our youth, but a much calmer yet weary demeanor.

The tesseract had transported us to the Great Hall of Asgard, where no preliminaries had been wasted in their dealings with me. I stood chained with the guards and waited for decisions to be made. The sentinels had taken off my mouth restrictor, but kept my hands tightly bound in front of me. I was unable to perform magic in this situation. Odin and I had played many roles over the years; now he would be my judge, and I his prisoner. I knew that the consequences would be severe if I failed in my mission on Earth, and I had no current plan of attack except stoicism. I would not goad them on, but I also would not give them a reaction. Unless I was sentenced to death, there would be time for planning later, and a time for sorting through my thoughts and emotions if I truly felt the need to. For now, I expertly ignored my quickening pulse as Odin approached the top of the stairs.

I looked into his eyes, waiting to hear his pronouncement. My fear of possible punishments kept at bay the usual rage and self-consciousness that accompanied many interviews with Odin.

He seemed to be taking his time, whether because he was still deciding or for dramatic effect I could not discern. The silence resounded in the Hall, interrupted by the All-Father clearing his throat. "Loki…" I stiffened, my eye contact wavering. "Odinson…" I showed no acknowledgement of the implications involved with his use of that title. "Many allegations are brought before me this day, allegations that once again include the safety of the realms and respect for life." Odin took another step forward, and he looked down on me from the edge of his short dais. My jaw tightened, and I returned his gaze with a hint of defiance. "As I know that interrogating you tends not to lead to the truth—" Odin paused for emphasis—"Many further decisions must be made, and soon. But first…a preliminary lesson."

I heard a shuffling behind me, and felt a tightening in the guards' grips of my elbows. They pushed me roughly to the side, moving obviously toward the long banquet table. My legs stopped as I suddenly realized with shock what this preliminary lesson entailed. The guards pulled on my chains relentlessly, and I continued stumbling to my destination. "Stop!" I hissed when we arrived at the foot of the table, using the remainder of my strength to wrench my arms out of their grips. I doubt that I could have done that on my own, so the All-Father must have given a nod of permission. "I'll do it myself."

My chains were unlocked briefly. Odin stood silently, showing no sign of indecision, but giving me the time I needed. Thor appeared on Odin's left side, a blurry red-and-gold mass that I did not want to acknowledge. I turned my face away and concentrated on my task, unwilling for my audience to see any reaction or vulnerability. The narrow table came up to the height of my lower stomach. I stood with my feet shoulder-length apart and slowly ran my hands from the corners of the table up the sides, tightening my grip when I had adjusted my length. I was bending just slightly forward, providing easy access. The guards re-locked my chains to the table legs. My head dipped lower as I waited.

The sentinel whipped me methodically, pausing for an equal amount of time between strokes. Only slightly sparing his arm, he met his mark every time, while I knew that Odin was watching for bodily signals of progression. I stiffened for the first few cuts, gripping the table for support until my knuckles turned white, and then tentatively loosened my grip to pace myself for my punishment's duration. I could feel Odin's eyes on me, noting the up and down of my shoulders, how I forced myself to keep breathing regularly. Each lash cut me deeper, sinking me further. My vision blurred with the tears of humiliated pain. My mouth tightened in physical resistance to the repetitions of an accurate arm, while the half-slap, half-thud of the unknown instrument resounded loudly in the cavernous chambers. A few strokes later, a catch could be heard in my breath. I shifted my weight and moved my hands closer to myself, standing up straighter in an effort to regain some kind of control. This was the signal Odin interpreted to begin the final stretch. My inflictor must have received a signal, as the next stroke was especially harsh.

A whimper of pain almost escaped my lips, but I cut if off halfway through. Again my knuckles whitened on the sides of the table. Just after my body had weakened, the discipline had intensified. The sting had become a dull, aching throb that offered no momentary relief. The next stroke nearly made me  
lose my balance. I trembled, nervous about my punishment's uncertain interval. A nasty headache crept along the back of my head and ended with a throb at the temples, and I suddenly realized that I was parched with thirst. My left leg was beginning to fall asleep, but the rest of me was painfully alert for the final three, which were so cruel I had to clamp my teeth and curl my toes to keep from instinctually protecting myself.

And then my stripes were finished. I continued to stand in position, a breath of relief escaping my lips as I heard those in attendance slowly begin to disassemble.

"This is finished," Odin confirmed to the small gathering, and I heard him walk to my side and wait for me to compose myself. The physical and emotional stress had added up, causing me to swallow hard and hold my tearing eyes in check. I took a deep breath and squeezed my eyes shut. I had to face the All-father as expected and wait until later to gather my thoughts.

But as I turned my head to the side, it was Thor that stood in pregnant silence. He searched my face while I squinted back, simmering below the surface. My lips were parted and I panted slightly, and some hair stuck to the side of my face with sweat. I would not be the one to admit weakness. I would not speak first; I would hold my cards close to my chest.

Thor did not appear to be keeping the close calculations that I was. He bent forward and spoke softly. "Do not despair, Brother. Further justice is required, but you are not lost." I stared at him for another moment, and then returned my gaze to the table. I heard his retreating footsteps.

My usual stream of thoughts and possibilities began to return to me despite the pain as I was unshackled and lead, no doubt, to the prison below. Even after this experience, my brother still believed that I am an Asgardian at heart. This could certainly be used to my advantage. Or for something else.


End file.
